


Now, For the Weather

by ilcuoreardendo



Series: Supernatural Bites [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, Comment Fic, Gen, Humor, Locusts, Plague, Weather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 16:51:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilcuoreardendo/pseuds/ilcuoreardendo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam. Dean. A cloud of locusts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now, For the Weather

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the theme "weather," prompt: "I’m pretty sure the weather forecast didn’t call for a plague of locusts today!" on Livejournal's [Comment-Fic](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com) community.

* * *

 

“…working very closely with local authorities…”  
  
“Sam.”  
  
“…to meet with you and ask you a few questions…“  
  
“ _Sam_.”  
  
“…great, yes, see you then—“  
  
“Sam!”  
  
“ _What_ , Dean?” Sam pockets his phone, shoots a glare at his brother.   
  
“ _Incoming_.”  
  
Sam looks up. Two blocks ahead it’s as though a giant hand spilled a filter of coffee grounds across the sky and street; coffee grounds that writhe and squirm and whirl against the sky like sentient smoke. That annoying drone Sam had dismissed as faraway construction is coming rapidly closer.   
  
“… _Shit_.”  
  
Out of the many sudden flights they’ve taken over the years, Sam’s pretty sure two men running down Main Street of Small Town, USA being chased by a cloud of locusts is probably one of the most ridiculous.   
  
And as he flings himself into the front passenger seat of the Impala, he considers the fact that he’s a  _grown_  man…a  _hunter_ …running from a swarm of  _bugs_.   
  
Dean’s breathing harshly in the driver’s seat, so he doesn’t feel too badly.   
  
And when the locusts begin slamming into the Impala’s windows and roof with sounds like muffled shotgun bursts, he feels even better, snugly safe and gut-free inside the metal exoskeleton.   
  
“Oh, come  _on_ ,” Dean says, watching the guts splatter across the windshield, the shining black hood. “I just had her waxed.” He turned to Sam. “You didn’t know anything about this? No signs? No visions, Madame Blavatsky? No weather reports?”  
  
Sam scoffed. “If the weather man had predicted a plague of locusts to go along with the rising atmospheric pressure, Dean, I’d have let you know.”


End file.
